A Study In Sisterly Suffering
by horcruxwh0re
Summary: Ginny is troubled during her fifth year at Hogwarts and seeks solace within the embrace of her close friend, Hermione. Snape is haunted by a memory from his years as a student. Warning: This story contains rape, drug use, cutting, and explicit material.
1. A Prologue

A prologue: wherein Ginny laments…

It was a particularly cold autumn during the fall of my fifth year. Cold in more than just the literal sense… My heart was frozen, Harry was rarely around, and I felt as though time crystallized, encapsulating my love and binding me to the lonely state of that present. I'd beat my pale fists against the wintery cage of my quiet suffering, that is, until I felt as though I could take no more. In the resolute visage of a certain Hermione Granger, I saw echoed the same torments that plagued me so and rent my soul asunder. Our fingers touched through our shared abandon and the icy wastes of our lonely world. As though we were clad in irons, we moved through the castle of Hogwarts in our repressive robes, like Saudi women heavy with the weight of their loathsome lot. Needless to say, it sucked.


	2. Chapter One

Author's Note: Poor Ginny just can't catch a break. Please read and review! Thank you! 3 :)

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><p>I hear the sounds of the movements of my fellow students. Fifth year girls patter and preen as they ready themselves for the upcoming day. I roll over, opening one eye and wondering how these women, or young girls really, manage to be so vibrant at such an ungodly hour. My stomach turns as I confront the reality that I will soon leave my cocoon of Gryffindor emblazoned bedding. The empty nattering of the other girls rouses me forcefully from my dreamless sleep. Cunts.<p>

I feel the mass of my hair in a tangle, greasy and knotted, an appropriate reflection of my internal state. I glance over toward Hermione, still resting peacefully, her head of gentle chestnut curls lying wan over her porcelain shoulders and delicate frame. I feel the moment still and the world stop as I take in her ethereal presence. With all the costuming, make-up, and masking, all the girls covering their coarse and pockmarked faces in a farcical display of femininity, none of them can hope to imitate the demure fragile sensuality glowing in the young woman before me.

I lose myself, so closely watching her lips, her cheeks, the soft flutter of her eyelashes, and I don't realize that I've just lost ten minutes swimming in her distant company. I'm studying the deepening rose hue of her lips, when I noticed them beginning to part and form the words, "Ginny, are you alright?"

As soft and slow and kind as the words come out, I still find myself startled. Struggling for words, I manage to disentangle myself from the mess of sheets and mutter rather stupidly, "Oh, yeah. I'm fine." I pause awkwardly, stuttering, "Why do you ask?" Someone once told me not to ask questions I don't want answers to, and I feel her answer before it comes. She looks at me, not cruelly, but with the steady gaze of a girl, wise beyond her years, "Well…it seemed like you were," she pauses somewhat uncomfortably, "watching me?"

I flush immediately, overwhelmed by the forthright manner of her speech, and in that pause I know that she knows exactly what I'm thinking. I begin to stammer, "I-I—"

"Ginny, do you have any tampons?" Pavarti calls from across the room, the tight fabric of her cotton nightie doing little to conceal the protrusion of her ample breasts and perky nipples. The crass and inappropriately timed question stands in juxtaposition to her earthy splendor. Hermione seems to lose her resolve as she turns to Pavarti, removing herself from her bed and dangling her feet coquettishly over the chilled wooden floor. I can feel her disapproval in the furrow of her gentle brow and the quiet movements of the slow clenching of her jaw.

"Yes, uhm, they're marked over in the cabinet in the girl's room. It's a small pink box." I believe my answer sufficed as Pavarti nodded thankfully and shot me an appreciative grin before scurrying out toward the lavatory, once again leaving Hermione and I alone. I smirk at Hermione's ill concealed distaste for Pavarti as she pads across the floorboards, heading toward her dresser, a tasteful nightgown hanging loosely from her slight frame.

She peels away the airy sleeping dress, somewhat self-conscious, awkwardly ashamed of her mostly naked form as the slope of her back and a portion of her pale thighs are revealed to me as she uncertainly turns away. I do the same, though awkward for a different reason. I am painfully aware of the distance between us, and the slow dissipation of the moment. Well be in the dining room soon, engulfed by the clattering of plates and full-mouthed guffaws of the morons and skanks that are sure to surround us.

I could cross the space between us, wrap my arms around her beautifully awkward bony shoulders, bury my face in her hair, and melt into the cool whiteness of her body. If I had more time, time enough to understand, to learn to be brave, perhaps as brave as Godric Gryffindor, if only…


End file.
